


Lies We Tell Ourselves

by Silvershadowe



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon Blood, Gen, Introspection, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Sam Angst, Seasons 5-9
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-25 05:42:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9804986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silvershadowe/pseuds/Silvershadowe
Summary: Sam is okay. Really.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place during season five, episode two; season five, episode fourteen; between seasons five and six; between early episodes of season seven; between episodes of season nine.  
> Originally posted on Fanfiction.Net under the same name.
> 
> My first real venture into the Supernatural fandom! Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoy it!

River Pass, Colorado

May 28th, 2009

Sam was okay.

Really.

If there was one good thing about his starting the apocalypse, it was that the horrible, aching craving for demon blood he'd wrestled with for over a year had disappeared.

It was gone.

For sure.

So as Sam stared down at his knife- Ruby's knife-, fresh demon blood dripping off the edge, he decided the feeling he was experiencing was not craving. It was… reflex.

And when he wiped a drop onto his finger- warm- it was just… curiosity. After all, it had been so long since he'd looked at demon blood without wanting it. Because he didn't want it.

Nope.

Not at all.

It smelled like sulfur and iron. It tasted like-

No.

A jingle sounded from the front of the store, and Sam was distracted from the red liquid on his fingers. Dean walked through the door and Sam felt a modicum of relief. There was nothing he'd rather do than cave- what do you mean cave, you don't want it anymore- in front of his brother.

That would be the ultimate admission of defeat, of resignation. Sam had done it once before. He would not do it again.

Not when the slate was wiped clean, when his need for intoxication wasn't blaring through his mind all hours of the day.

Because Sam was fine. Just fine.

Dean looked at him for a moment, just looked. He didn't say a word, but disappointment registered on his face.

And Sam felt guilty. Why? He'd done nothing wrong. But you would have, said a voice in the back of his mind. If Dean weren't here, you would have.

Sam ignored that voice and followed his brother outside.

Sioux Falls, South Dakota

February 18th, 2010

Sam was okay.

Truly.

No demon blood craving at all, no siree.

Guess that's why you're in the Panic Room. Again.

Sam rolled his eyes, though there was no one there to see it.

It was Famine causing this, that was all. Famine even got to Castiel, the angel. So why would he, the Boy with the Demon Blood, be exempt from the Horseman's influence?

It didn't get to Dean.

But nothing gets to Dean. Dean is unshakeable, Dean is…

Not in the Panic Room. Like someone else you know.

Sam hated that voice in his head.

A wave of pain shot through him, and he stifled a scream. Well, tried to, anyways.

Another moment passed. Sam screamed. There was no point. No one was coming.

He was alone.

That's pretty dramatic.

"Yes it is," came a voice, one Sam remembered all too well. "But why am I not surprised?"

Ruby's face- you're dead, Dean killed you, he stabbed you, I saw you die, you're dead- floated into his vision. Her hair brushed his face. He tried to stand, momentarily forgetting his restraints.

She smiled, her eyes turning black. "Are you trying to get away from me?" Ruby shook her head. "Tsk, tsk."

He felt her sit down next to him. He inched as far away as the straps would allow, which was not far. "N-no…"

Ruby laughed, soft and lilting. She had a wonderful laugh.

Sam remembered when they were alone, when they weren't thinking about Lilith, or his freaky demon powers, or Dean- you were always thinking about Dean- and they were just together. When it was quiet, and they would talk. Not about revenge, not about anything.

And sometimes, in those times when they would talk just for the sake of talking, she would laugh.

It was fake, he knew that now. But if he looked away, if he just listened to her snicker at some terrible joke he'd made, he could pretend for a moment that she wasn't a demon, that they were two normal people with normal lives.

Because when she laughed like that, she sounded just like Jessica.

"I can make it better."

Ruby's voice snapped him back to reality.

"You're hurting, aren't you?"

Without meaning to, Sam found himself nodding.

She grinned down at him, her teeth blinding white. "I can fix it." Slowly, Ruby pulled her knife- my knife, it's mine now, not hers , even though Dean has it now, it's mine it isn't Ruby's knife anymore it's- and cut a line into her hand.

Sam realized what she meant, how she intended on 'fixing it,' and panicked. "No! Please! Please, help! HELP!"

No one came.

But then again, Sam didn't expect them to.

He was okay. And people who are okay don't need other people to come running.

Outskirts of Decorah, Iowa

November 19th, 2010

Sam was okay.

Actually, he had no idea whether he was okay. Or whether he was happy, annoyed, spiraling into a deep black hole of depression…

It just didn't seem important anymore. Ever since he'd woken up in Stull Cemetery, confused and freezing cold, Sam had no need for emotions.

Sam jammed his knife into the demon's borrowed body. He watched as its face- Alyssa Goldenstien, the twenty-two year old from Dubuque- twisted into an expression of horror. He watched as it flashed orange, and slumped to the ground.

He watched, but did nothing more.

Sam had been doing a lot of watching recently.

Sighing at the state of his clothes- going to have to get this replaced or some do-gooder will call the cops -, Sam left the warehouse. He glanced at what had once been a demon's knife, now coated in blood. He felt no desire for the liquid at all.

After all, he'd been down that road before, hadn't he? And it had ended in the apocalypse. Not good for any party involved. Sam was aware that if he drank demon blood, he would achieve incredible power. But that came with strings, so many, many strings, none of which Sam was willing to be pulled by.

Addiction was not beneficial to his existence. So it was not a part of his existence. End of story.

"You kill it?"

His grandfather looked back at him, anxious. Samuel had proven his usefulness, along with the rest of the Campbell clan.

That didn't mean Sam liked them.

They could hunt. They could help keep him alive. But they also felt fear and uncertainty, and the need to converse, and sleep.

Sam had no need for such distractions. They got in the way. And when there were thousands of monsters out there that needed killing, Sam had little respect for those who allowed such simple things to slow them down.

"Yeah, it's done. Let's get out of here." Sam ducked into his grandfather's truck.

Samuel nodded, then followed Sam. "It's awful, though. About that girl. Had her whole life ahead of her." The older man gazed out the window, his eyes sad. Is that sad? Angry? What is that?

"Yeah, it's terrible," said Sam, wishing Samuel would just gun the engine. He had a werewolf waiting for a silver bullet between the eyes two towns over.

Samuel shook his head and hit the gas pedal.

Sam pursed his lips.

Sam was okay.

People were ridiculous.

…

Sioux Falls, South Dakota

September 4th, 2011

Sam was okay.

"Okay?" Lucifer holding back laughter. "Yep, that's you!"

Sam shut his eyes. This was not the time.

"What's going on? Am I not interesting enough for you?" the demon taunted, its tone genuinely annoyed. "Mister Space-Out over here spends a few decades in Lucifer's Cage, thinks he's too good for a low level like me?"

"Oh my goodness! It knows who you are!" Lucifer looked back and forth from Sam and the trapped demon, grinning in mock surprise. "Better yet, it knows where you've been."

Lucifer appeared much closer than Sam would have liked. Sam could feel his breath on his neck. "That was fun, wasn't it, Sammy?"

He's not real, not real, not real, NOT RE—

The room changed color, flashing red, filling with implements of torture. Sam could feel his heartbeat speed up, feel himself beginning to hyperventilate. He shut his eyes- fake, fake, you're not there, it's fake, fakefakefake- then opened them. The cage was gone. Just Bobby's parlor.

Dean looked at his brother-

"He doesn't look happy. Kinda reminds me of when he shut you in the Panic Room."

-then back to the demon, stepping forward. "Exorcizamus te, Omnis immundus spiritus…"

Sam looked away, looked down, looked anywhere but at Lucifer.

There was blood on the floor. Demon blood.

With that kind of power, you could get rid of Lucifer.

With that kind of power, I'd end up as Lucifer.

"You can't avoid me forever, Sammy. I ain't going nowhere."

Sam took a deep breath. Inhale, exhale.

He pressed down on his injured hand- at this rate it'll never heal.

"Aw, c'mon." Lucifer whined, beginning to fade.

Just before he disappeared, the- not real- devil smiled. "Well. I can wait." Sam shivered.

"What's going on with you? Is it Lucifer?"

It took Sam a moment to realize Dean was talking to him. "What? Oh." He turned to his brother. "Uh, yeah. It's, uh… yeah."

Sam averted his gaze. He could smell the blood; hear Ruby's voice in his ear. It's okay. You can have it.

He was fine.

Just fine.

Grantsburg, Wisconsin

December 18th, 2013

Sam was not okay.

In fact, he was the opposite of okay.

He remembered killing Alistair. He remembered killing Lilith. Hell, he killed a freakin' Horseman!

So why wasn't he adding Abbadon to that list?

You know why.

He knew he could kill her. Dean probably knew it, too. But instead of letting his brother risk any sort of pain, Dean decided to accept the Mark of Cain.

The Mark of Cain.

Great.

Sam looked at his brother, at his arm, at the only scar Dean had not earned. I could have done it. I could have solved all of this but instead you do this to yourself. This is insane. We both knew I could have, but you wouldn't let me get three words out about the easiest solution. No, you have to—

"Geez, Sam, I know I'm beautiful, but you're starting to freak me out." Dean grinned. "What're you staring at me like that for?"

Sam sighed. "Why didn't you let me, Dean?"

"Let you what?"

"You know."

"What?"

The younger averted his eyes and tried again. "You didn't have to do that. Take on the… the Mark."

"Oh yeah? And what was your great plan to take down Abbadon? Enlighten me."

"I could've…"

"Yeah?"

"I could have killed her. Like I killed Lilith. Maybe without starting the apocalypse this time."

It was Dean's turn to look away, nodding and smiling without humor. "Right, and all you need's a little go-go juice, and bam, Abbadon's head on a plate."

"Dean—"

"I wouldn't let you do that."

"I know."

"It almost killed you last time. And the time before that."

"But this, the Mark… It's killing you, Dean!"

Dean's face turned deadly serious. "Listen little brother, and listen good, 'cause I ain't gonna repeat myself. You could not have killed Abbadon."

"But we don't know-!"

"This is the only way. There is no way in heaven or hell that I'm letting you do that again."

"Dean—"

"Never again. I will choose the Mark of Cain a thousand times before I watch you turn to demon blood. And I'll choose it a million times before I let you. So, yes, I did have to take the Mark. Because as far as I'm concerned, it is the only solution."

Sam was silent.

Because what could he say to that?

His brother was dying. Though he couldn't be killed, Dean was being replaced by something entirely not Dean.

Sam glared at the floor. Push it down. Isn't that what Dean says? What Dad always said, before he pushed down so much that he couldn't look himself in the mirror?

He looked up at Dean, who did not return the favor. His eyes flicked back to the Mark, one stupid little symbol that Sam hated more than Azazel and Lucifer combined.

There was no point in pretending. He could tell Dean everything was fine, he could tell Castiel that it's all going to turn out in the end, but there why should he lie to himself?

Years had gone by with Sam telling himself the ends justified the means, pretending that he was okay, even when he was dying inside and out.

Mom's gone. "Angels are watching over you."

Dad's gone. "Follow the godamned orders, or so help me…"

Jessica's gone. "Crash and burn."

Dean's going, going, gone.

And whose fault is that?

Sam was a curse, worse than any God-given Mark. And nothing could change that. He continued because Dean needed him, not because he believed he deserved to.

After all, what does a curse deserve but to be broken?


End file.
